


One Clean Sweep

by CannedTins



Category: Hiveswap
Genre: Gen, Rants, murder by words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 22:31:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16313867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CannedTins/pseuds/CannedTins
Summary: Marsti gives a particularly harsh rant to Zebruh, AKA she absolutely murders him with words alone.





	One Clean Sweep

**Author's Note:**

> (It is very satisfying to dissect Zebruh, I think. Also can I just say I love Marsti so much?)  
> As always I accept critique~

 

Marsti felt the chill of the Alternian air as she walked towards the rubble, so dirty and filthy, that only a clown or some other non-thinking highblood would make such a waste. She heaved her bucket up and wet her mop, doing her job as usual.

 

She wished she'd borrowed Folykl's headphones at that moment, because she then heard a most condescending, fake-pitying voice coming from behind. She turned around to face the indigoblood, glaring daggers through her thick, rust-colored goggles.

 

"Do you need help, ma'am?", the Indigoblood asked, his hands were together, signaling that he was not a threat. But Marsti knew better.

 

She looked up and down his fancy getup, from the bowtie to his vest and jeans. He must be rich. Of course, All highbloods were richer than one could ever imagine. Just another component of this society she so much wished to escape from. She knew what she would do; obviously murder was off-limits and a cull sentence, so there was no point in trying (that, and Indigos are notoriously strong for the species). She slowly lifted her goggles.

 

"I know who you are," she whispered.

 

"What?" The highblood blinked.

 

"I know what you do. And who do you think you are, not only trespassing while I am on the job, but also crying crocodile tears of pity, while you're at it. Help? Do I need help? Do I look like it?" Marsti advanced towards him slowly and surely, not presenting herself as a physical threat but certainly a verbal one.

 

The other troll stammered and began to blush, he hadn't been prepared enough for a lowblood to stand up to him so viciously.

 

Marsti continued, locking her eyes with the Indigo's.

 

"Look at me. Do I look like a willing handmaid? a little harlot that could just beg at her knees and ask for some bulge? Don't be ridiculous. I've seen a lot, and I have heard about everything you do. A little alien freak told me. They get around. And you know what they said?"

 

"I--"

 

"You keep slaves. Call them servants. I shouldn't be surprised, oh, not at all. But it disgusts me how you treat them. I hear there was one quite like me. And you know what you did? You let her get sick and die. That could have been me, imagine that. Another lowly rustblood slave's corpse off to the garbage dump, to be forgotten for all of eternity."

 

"Well--" The highblood was getting visibly nervous at this point, as ridiculous as he thought it seemed, he was just not used to getting his own taste of medicine. Hardly anyone ever called him out before.

 

"You don't get to speak this time," Marsti stomped her foot, "Not this time. This is my time to speak. Your moral fuckups may be excused by our society as being perfectly normal for your caste level, but us lowbloods know just how god-damn awful you guys are. I've seen too many of my kind suffering, dying, being culled for simply breathing the same air as you do. I don't have many friends because they all keep dying, and I cannot trust a single middle or high-blood to be associated with me in fears of them being a backstabber. I've attempted to treat other lowbloods with my unfortunately poor medical skills---because there are not enough doctors who are willing to touch us! And guess what? They die. That's usually the outcome; death. And the only other troll around willing to touch a lowblood corpse in these parts is another rustblood, hideously ugly and simply tragic. I don't talk to him very much, but we both know just what a cesspool of filth and bigotry our society is."

 

The indigoblood struggled to think of another rustblood just like the one she described, an ugly and depressive disposer of corpses, surely it wasn't---

 

"Are you paying attention?" Marsti had long abandoned her task, mop on the ground and the filth untouched, "Good, because you should listen to everything I have to say. I could go on and on for nights, even during the days when the sun is so hot it burns our skin. Back to what I was saying; you keep slaves and servants, touting about how great of an ally you are to lowbloods, while we die in a manner of disturbing and violent ways, living without peace for most of our lives. And what do you have to show your so-called support for us? Nothing but hopes for filling buckets with those you secretly deem inferior, and only find useful enough to get a peek at their bulges and nooks, so you can leak your vile slurry all over your pants.  Honestly, you are just a creep trying to force his quadrants to every poor lowblood he can find, because for some reason he thinks they are 'easier to come by' than your kind, or some shit. You claim you want to do what is best for lowbloods, but in reality you're an egotistical, ignorant asshole who simply does not give a fuck about them, you just want the attention."

 

She stopped to take a deep breath, staring at the indigoblood who appeared to be flushed completely blue now, biting his lip with jagged teeth.

 

And she was not going to let him speak further, "I'm not done. I haven't even gotten inside your perverted thinkpan yet. I can't even believe to register how you feel about yourself. Why, look at those bags under your eyes, they look pretty bad, but I've seen far worse coming from either disease or lack of sleep. So I wonder what's up with you there. I doubt you lose any sleep over being a highblood. Do you paint under your eyes for pity points? Or...perhaps you secretly regret what you are doing. Do I sense a possible, if malformed conscience within you? Could you be plagued with thoughts of terrifying realizations, a sure sign of penitence to come? I sure hope so. But I doubt it, for now. Even if you did show regret in public, I doubt anyone would forgive you. Except maybe for the clowns, as culturally fucked up as they are. I fear that even if you try to redeem yourself you will be forgotten, only known briefly as a scumbag who really thought he was doing something good when he was only bringing doom upon the unfortunate. And eventually brought doom upon himself. Your ego, your ignorance and lack of caring towards the suffering, parading around as some fake, performative ally act, will be your undoing. It will be your comeuppance, and it is the only thing you deserve."

 

The indigoblood seemed visibly troubled now, trying to fight back tears. How unsightly, that a highblood would break down in front of a lowblood, yet against all odds, it was happening. And Marsti was pleased.

 

She took off her apron and goggles, settling them on the ground, "Look at me. I try to take care of myself the best I can, and I try to keep spaces clean and tidy, because I know others don't have that same privilege. Hell, I hardly did until I said 'fuck it' and tried it out. Those who aren't so lucky, including the ugly rust I mentioned before, he looks damn near-death every time I see him. That is the unfortunate reality for some, if not most, of us. They're not so lucky. And you have the audacity to parade around in your expensive clothes while we beg and starve. Then you take some of us in, and further torture them, subjecting them to slavery. What is wrong with you? If you were genuine, you would actually help us, not torment us. You're not with us, you're against us."

 

She picked up her belongings and sighed, her face flushed with anger. The indigo was already trembling and could no longer hold back his tears.

 

"So, long story short---no. I don't need help."

 

She advanced towards him, and---

 

"You do."

 

She glared at him with the fury of a thousand green suns, piercing directly into his cold heart and hoping that every word she said would be forever etched into his memory.

 

"Goodbye,” she shoved her cleaning supplies into his chest, “and clean up your act, will you?"

 

She stormed off, hoping to never see him again.

 

...........  
Zebruh was stunned, trembling with his legs growing weak---he didn't expect this. He never would have.  
He laughed. What a brave lowblood she was, wanting to stand up for herself. But he too cried, as ashamed as he was for doing so. 

The sins he had committed in life would weigh on his shoulders heavy enough to crush him.


End file.
